


Fixing What's Broken

by rev_eeriee



Series: Overtime [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe-Time Loop, Angst and more angst and EVEN MORE ANGST, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insanity, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Ouma is good at comforting, Ouma tries to comfort Momota, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Sheesh these tags are scary, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, auditory hallucinations, mental breakdowns, morally gray characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev_eeriee/pseuds/rev_eeriee
Summary: Ouma frowned, still looking wary, but underneath that cautious façade was a certain concern… Ouma really is a good person, deep down, Grand Canyon deep down, and Momota appreciated it, he really did. The Supreme Leader murmured, almost to himself. “What happened to you?”To that Momota laughed harder. What happened to him? What didn’t happen to him? How many timelines has it been? Eighty-six? Ninety? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it’s too much, far too much, for the human brain to comprehend. He was already broken a long, long time ago.“Everything.” He told Ouma, smiling. “Everything happened to me.”---AKA. Timeloop AU. Amidst the broken time, Momota tries to cope.





	1. Infatuation

**Author's Note:**

> This is originally meant to be a one-shot, but it got TOO long, so I decided to make it into a short multichapter fic instead. This is already finished, and is in the beta-reading stage (Thanks, Zay, I love you! :D) and I'm actually pretty proud of how this turned out. 
> 
> This is inspired by the sudden pressing urge to want to see if I can handle a writing a broken character. I just love making challenges for myself and I guess this is one of them. XD 
> 
> WARNING: Past sexual abuse is mentioned/referenced/heavily implied on some scenes. There are no scenes of sexual assault in this fic, but it's kind of relevant to the characters. This fic is NOT meant to gather any sympathy towards rapists/abusers/sexual offenders. If it seemed that way, I apologize, as it is not my intention. I personally have VERY STRONG opinions on the subject, and I think it rubbed off on Momota somewhat here... you'll see soon what I mean.

Ouma.

Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma,  _ Kokichi! _

He  _ grinned _ . “Kokichi!”

“Oof!” The Supreme Leader gasped as Momota practically  _ ran  _ into him, laughing heartily as he lifted him off his feet and twirled him around as if he was a child, stars sparkling in those magenta eyes as he stared at him, actually  _ stared  _ at him. Kokichi was alive again, he’s alive again, flesh and blood and no—he’s not squished up guts and bones and skin anymore, no—he’s  _ alive  _ and he’s  _ warm  _ and this time… This time! Momota would make sure he’d live through this nightmare this time.  _ This time. _

_ Huh? But that’s silly,  _ he realized. Every cycle he tries to make Ouma survive, over and over and over again, and sometimes Ouma  _ does  _ live past the fifth trial, but Momota can never really be sure if he would survive through to the  _ end.  _ The  _ end  _ end _.  _ Because fate was cruel and fate  _ despised  _ Momota. He never lives through to the end. Never,  _ ever!  _ Not once, ever! The astronaut  _ laughed  _ until he wanted to cry, but  _ no _ . Heroes don’t cry and heroes don’t  _ die  _ but he had already died over and over and over again so maybe it’s time for Momota to stop acting like a fucking hero because  _ you’ll never be one you useless piece of shit, you pathetic waste of space—  _

Space. Space! Space was pretty. Pretty like Ouma back in that timeline where Shirogane made him wear a wedding dress, the Supreme Leader twirling and grinning like a proud bride as Momota watched from the corner of the cosplayer’s lab, transfixed by his beauty. Pretty like the stars back when Ouma sneaked into his room and told him to follow, whispering sweet nothings in his ear as he urged him to  _ calm down _ ,  _ take a deep breath, everything will be fine, Momota-chan. I’ll always be here for you. _

Space! Momota  _ loved  _ space, but had  _ never  _ really gone to space before, despite being the Ultimate Astronaut. Actually… maybe he did. He did…  _ right?  _ Back in that very,  _ very  _ first timeline. His execution was a  _ blast!  _ A  _ BLAST!  _ Like  _ whoosh~!  _ It was pretty cool. And it was suffocating. And he choked on his blood and he gasped out his last breath and he died amongst the stars— 

Ouma frowned as Momota put him down. The astronaut’s cheeks hurt, must be because he’s grinning like a madman for a while now. He probably looked just a tad bit crazed and a tad bit scary because Ouma looked at him with those wary and  _ beautiful  _ and slightly terrified lilac eyes— 

_ Just like he does whenever I push the press down!  _ The thought nearly made him  _ giggle _ .  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry… I didn’t want you to die, I  _ never  _ wanted  _ anyone  _ to die—  _

“I’m sorry, but who the hell are you? How do you know my name?” Ouma’s voice was laced with poison. With  _ suspicion.  _ But his eyes were... hesitant. Ah, he looked so cute when he does that small expression when his forehead crease and his lips pucker just a tiny little bit, and why doesn’t Ouma remember him? Momota frowned, feeling hurt.  _ Huh? Huh? HUH? _

He looked around. Only then did he realize that they were in the gym, and people were staring strangely at him. Almost as if… they didn’t know him. And Amami was alive again. And Akamatsu was alive again! Ah… Ah! He got it. He must have died yet again. The last thing he could remember before waking up in the locker today was Harukawa holding his hand at the trial grounds, watching the astronaut’s body break down and keel over from his illness, the illness that plagued him every timeline, the illness that  _ never  _ lets him live past the fifth trial, the illness that  _ never lets him fulfill his dreams—  _

So it starts again. And again! And Ouma doesn’t know him again. And Momota has to woo him again. Get him on his side again. Show him that he’s trustworthy, that he’s  _ useful _ , that he  _ knew  _ who’s going to kill who and he  _ knew  _ what Ouma was going to do and sometimes Ouma gets impressed by this and sometimes Ouma feels threatened. Momota remembered one timeline where  _ he  _ was the one strangled on the rooftop of the killing game simulator, and he watched as guilt pass down Ouma’s eyes before he grinned like an innocent child and said things went  _ perfectly  _ to plan. Momota wasn’t mad about it, not really, because Momota already killed him  _ countless times  _ and Ouma only killed him  _ once,  _ and all he really ever wanted was for Ouma to— _ kill me again. Kill me with your own two hands again and again and again and someday maybe I’ll be able to call it quits and the guilt in my heart will finally fade so  _ please, Kokichi, kill me— 

No, no! He didn’t want Ouma to kill him. He wanted Ouma to  _ kiss  _ him! Even if he had to pin him on the dormitory wall as he  _ ravaged his body  _ like he did that one time. Because if he couldn’t get to space then he could settle on the next best thing and  _ conquer  _ the universe that shone in Ouma’s eyes. Saihara called it obsession a few dozen timelines ago. Harukawa called it  _ madness.  _ But Momota called it  _ love _ , only  _ love,  _ and he didn’t know when it started. He didn’t know when the Supreme Leader had finally managed to steal his heart. He just knew that he  _ did  _ it, somewhere between the fifteenth and twentieth timeline, when Momota spent every waking moment trying to  _ talk  _ to him,  _ understand  _ him,  _ know  _ him. Momota told him what’s been happening and Ouma  _ smiled sadly  _ as he held his hand and told him he’d always be here and he’d get him out of this timeloop someday, and Momota  _ cried  _ for the very first time since the entire ordeal started, screaming how this  _ isn’t  _ fair, he just wanted to  _ get out  _ and why was it him that had to deal with this  _ shit why why why why why WHY?! _

He gasped. Ouma was still staring warily. He  _ grinned  _ as he looked around, trepidation easing its way into his heart. Everyone was alive again. Everyone was back here again. Which means… Akamatsu will die again. And he  _ had  _ to take the role of the leader again. He had to be  _ trustworthy, strong, charismatic,  _ and most of all  _ not  _ crazy. Everyone was going to rely on this shoulder that’s been beaten and  _ broken  _ and  _ shattered  _ over and over again and  _ oh god I don’t wanna do it anymore, everyone will kill each other again anyway but if I don’t Shuuichi is going to be a mess and Harumaki will  _ never  _ open up to the group and what kind of hero lets his sidekicks go astray ( _ **_who cares? I’m not a hero, I’ve never been a hero, please let me go please let me just STOP EXISTING ALREADY_ ** _ )—  _

_ Not. Crazy.  _ Momota had to act  _ not crazy.  _ He swallowed hard as his eyes flitted about, smiling apologetically at Ouma. “S-Sorry. I just heard your name from when you were… uhh… introducing yourself to the others!” That made sense, right? “I just thought you were someone I know.”

Ouma’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t buy it. But that’s alright. That meant he’ll be trying to talk to Momota later tonight, try to interrogate him about what he knew, and Momota will  _ spill his guts  _ to him again and that’s alright—because whether or not Momota acts  _ not crazy  _ didn’t matter to Ouma. It didn’t matter if he’s trustworthy, or he’s charismatic or he’s  _ strong— _ Ouma would always,  _ always,  _ always… distrust him, at least at the beginning. Because Ouma had a lot of trust issues, that’s all that Momota knew. Ouma had lived a long, hard,  _ sad  _ life before coming here. Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma!

_ Will we make it out this cycle? Will I finally be free? Kokichi, Kokichi, tell me! Tell me! You  _ promised!  _ How long has it been, eighty-seven? Eighty-three?  _ No, Momota will never get out. He will never,  _ ever  _ get out. Ouma was strong, and Ouma was  _ smart,  _ but not even Ouma can fix this broken time.  _ But that’s okay!  _ It’s  _ okay _ . Because Momota has long given up anyway. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Not crazy. Not crazy. Not crazy. Not crazy not crazy not crazynotcrazynotcrazynotcrazy— 

_ I’m not crazy!  _ Momota  _ laughed  _ when Monokuma showed up, telling them about the Killing Game.  _ I’m not crazy.  _ He felt his chest ache and he coughed on his hand and there it was—a small trickle of blood.  _ Why, hello there, nice to see you again old friend.  _ He chuckled as he looked around. Saihara was hanging out with Akamatsu again. Akamatsu, Akamatsu, why do you have to lead him on and then  _ die  _ and  _ leave him alone  _ and  _ leave me to deal with him I don’t want to deal with him anymore  _ and  _ hahahahahaha what am I thinking, Shuuichi is my bestfriend, I should be  _ happy  _ to support him but I’m tired I’m tired I’m tired I’m so fucking tired—  _

_ STOP IT! I DON’T WANNA DEAL WITH THIS ANYMORE! _

“Wait! Wait up, weird guy!” Ouma was calling out as they retired to their rooms for the night. The Supreme Leader was smiling cheerfully, but it was a fake smile. Momota knew. He’s watched him long enough to understand. But Ouma didn’t know that.  _ Ouma didn’t know that.  _ This Ouma thought they met for the very first time today. This Ouma thought Momota was suspicious. Ouma grinned his breathtaking grin as Momota gave him a  _ genuinely fond  _ smile.  _ Ah, Kokichi… Kokichi, Kokichi, Kokichi! _

Momota pulled him by his neckerchief and kissed him.

* * *

 

Momota’s descent to madness happened like this.

When he woke up in the locker in the second timeline, he was  _ very, very  _ confused. The last thing he remembered was  _ dying _ , and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. And yet, when he came back to his senses, his lungs felt  _ fine.  _ Better, even. For a moment he was relieved, he had deluded himself that the entire thing had just been a strange dream—until Monokuma announced the Killing Game again. Until Amami was found dead on the library floor again. Until it was revealed that it was Akamatsu who killed him. Until the trials passed by in a blur, until he pushed the button and the press went  _ down  _ and the  _ crack-crack-crack  _ of bones snapping and the  _ squish  _ of flesh and  _ spurts  _ of blood sent shivers down his spine… until he was left inside the exisal unable to speak, wishing he could wake up because this had to be some kind of fucked up nightmare— 

Momota died inside the exisal back then. He didn’t put effort in fighting back against his illness and surviving anymore, no. He was too horrified, knowing that this plan was doomed to  _ fail,  _ but unable to find the courage to tell Ouma  _ how he knew.  _ Not when Ouma looked so  _ determined  _ to end the game. Not when he was lying on the press,  _ dying  _ of poison. Momota couldn’t tell him, no, he wasn’t that cruel. When the third timeline came, and the fourth, and the fifth and the  _ tenth…  _ Momota finally started to realize how  _ fucked  _ he was. He couldn’t do  _ anything.  _ He tried, he tried  _ so hard  _ to stop the murders! He really did! He wanted to get out with everyone!  _ Please,  _ please,  _ I just want to get out with everyone.  _ But somehow he still finds himself in the same time in the same place, pushing the button of press down while knowing that his own death was just around the corner... useless...  _ worthless—  _

One morning after Akamatsu’s trial he just had to embrace the Supreme Leader tight, murmuring apologies under his breath. For killing him over and over again, while knowing his sacrifice would be in vain.

“I’m sorry,” he had murmured, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I’m so  _ so  _ sorry…“  _ I didn’t want you to die, I  _ never  _ wanted  _ anyone  _ to die— _

“Momota-chan…” Ouma muttered, smiling uneasily. “Have you gone mad?”

Momota laughed.  _ I think I did a long time ago. _

That was the first timeline Ouma survived. Momota did  _ everything he could,  _ tried his best to make Harukawa  _ not hate  _ Ouma (which was probably  _ impossible _ ), and as a last resort, took both arrows the assassin had shot. Oh, the pain. The  _ agony.  _ Momota was proud of doing something good  _ for once,  _ but it did nothing to cleanse Ouma’s blood from his hands. Sometimes at night the astronaut dreams about it. The  _ crack-crack-crack  _ and the  _ squish  _ and the  _ spurts _ , Ouma giggling his obnoxious  _ nishishi  _ until he was dead and he was finally silent and— 

—and as soon as he felt his lips against Ouma’s, a shiver went through his spine. He immediately pulled back, feeling sick as he doubled over, the memory of  _ that timeline  _ going back to him… it was here in this dormitory too, wasn’t it? When he hurt Ouma in a way so  _ vile  _ and so  _ unforgivable  _ that the Supreme Leader’s broken sobs still rang inside his head.  _ How dare you touch him and kiss him like it’s nothing how dare you Kaito you’re a monster you screwed up he doesn’t deserve that shut up shut up shut upshutup—  _

But it wasn’t Momota’s fault! It was Ouma’s! How dare he say ‘I love you too’ in one timeline and absolutely  _ despise  _ him the next, clinging to Saihara like he’s the only thing that mattered to him when he  _ promised he’d never ever leave me?!  _ But Ouma didn’t deserve that, no, he  _ never  _ deserved that,  _ stop touching him you don’t deserve him  _ **_LET GO_ ** **—**

Momota suddenly let go of Ouma’s scarf as if it was on fire. As if he was burned. There was a panic inside him, threatening to erupt into a full-blown episode of him laughing and crying and  _ reliving everything _ , all the fucked up shit he had done whenever he’s pushed to the limit. There were  _ a lot  _ of timelines Momota wasn’t very proud of, a lot of timelines he wished he could forget, most of which were the times that he hurt the people cared about, screwed up so badly that he didn’t wait for the illness to kill him anymore. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were flitting about, trying to look at  _ anything  _ but Ouma’s face, too scared to see his  _ terrified lilac eyes and his small demolished frame and the blood trickling down his thighs—  _

He felt a fleeting touch against his cheek and he sucked in a breath, finally looking down at the Supreme Leader, who was staring at him with absolute confusion, hand reaching out to stroke his cheek in a soothing, almost affectionate manner. Momota’s lips trembled as he leaned into the touch, starved for contact, because while he  _ couldn’t  _ let an animal like himself touch Ouma that way anymore, it was a different story when it was Ouma doing the touching. The Supreme Leader stared at him as if he was a wild animal, a  _ wounded  _ animal, and Momota laughed, because that sounded like a pretty accurate description of what he was: no longer human.

Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars, the Ultimate Astronaut… that person was no more. He was just a pathetic husk of a person now… something that barely contained a soul.

How  _ tragic.  _ How laughable.

And Momota did just that— _ laugh. _

Ouma frowned, still looking wary, but underneath that cautious façade was a certain concern… Ouma really was a good person, deep down,  _ Grand Canyon  _ deep down, and Momota appreciated it, he really did. The Supreme Leader murmured, almost to himself, “What  _ happened  _ to you?”

To that Momota laughed harder. What happened to him? What  _ didn’t  _ happen to him? How many timelines has it been? Eighty-six? Ninety? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was too much,  _ far  _ too much, for the human brain to comprehend. He was already broken a long, long time ago.

“Everything,” he told Ouma,  _ smiling.  _ “ _ Everything  _ happened to me.”

* * *

 

Ouma is good. Ouma is lovely. Ouma is  _ wonderful. _

He smiles encouragingly. Rubs his back soothingly. And he  _ listens. _

_ God, he listens. _

Momota couldn’t remember how they ended up in the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s room, but somehow they did, as Momota tried to explain his experiences in a coherent manner. It’s been so long, he’s been through  _ so much _ , it was actually kind of jarring to try and explain it all in words. But somehow through jumbled sentences and misplaced laughter, he was able to relay everything that was relevant, everything except… what happened in  _ that timeline.  _ Ouma was silent as he listened to him, caressing his knuckles whenever he talks about a particularly bad part of his misadventures, the gentle gesture sending a flutter in his chest every time. Ouma’s reaction to this conversation would usually mark whether or not this will be a  _ good  _ cycle. A  _ good  _ cycle is one where Ouma stays with him, where he stays true to his promise to stay by his side. A  _ bad  _ cycle is one where Ouma fails to discard his suspicions, calling him a liar or a lunatic, ignoring him, distrusting him,  _ despising him— _

There had been a lot of good cycles recently. Momota wondered if he’d still continue to be this lucky. Because he  _ really  _ wanted Ouma’s support right now, with the way he was shattering to pieces. Maybe next timeline he’d lose himself completely. Maybe he already did. Everything was just blurring at the edges, and pure insanity was creeping towards him, closer and closer, all he needed to do was fall— 

And then Ouma’s hand was against his cheek again, the faintest of touches, keeping him grounded back to reality. He smiled, practically  _ melting  _ at the slightest display of affection, staring into the eyes that calmed him,  _ loved  _ him, the only thing that kept him going, his  _ only  _ reason for  _ being—  _

And then Ouma asked the question he always asks every  _ good  _ cycle.

“What timeline is this, Momota-chan?”

Relief.  _ I love you.  _ Momota wanted to take his hand in his and kiss his knuckles, but he kept his hands glued to his sides.  _ I love you so much.  _ He grinned widely at the Supreme Leader, and the Supreme Leader faintly smiled back.

“I’ll figure it out,” Momota promised.

  
  



	2. Deflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all your wonderful comments and support! :D 
> 
> Anyway! Let's continue. ouo
> 
> Next few chapters might take a while to post~ I need to lay low for a while my folks would get mad at me for being too active here. Haha

Amami was dead again, in the cold library floor.

_ That’s nothing new. _

Blood flowed down from his cracked skull and exploded like paint on an abstract canvas, a contrast of hot pink against brown. Now that Momota thought about it, has blood  _ always  _ been pink? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember... every timeline was taking something away from him, he knew. Making it harder and harder to remember what his life was before it all started, before  _ everything  _ started— 

Ouma shuffled towards him, apparently not caring that the rest of the class could see them.

_ That was... something new. _

Momota frowned as Ouma held his hand ( _ that’s weird, that’s weird, that’s  _ so  _ weird)  _ that he didn’t realize was shaking. He gave him a small smile, but the Supreme Leader didn’t smile back.  _ (What are you thinking what are you thinking what are you thinking tell me!).  _ Ouma simply stared at the corpse in front of them with a blank expression on his face.

“I wish Amami-chan lived longer,” Ouma confessed. Ah, so that’s what he was thinking about. Amami, Amami... dead Amami,  _ not breathing  _ Amami... Momota never really spent much time to get to know him, really, he was always so  _ busy  _ trying to pull himself together in the first few days of the Killing Game. Even so, seeing his corpse yet again made him feel sick. Sick, sick, sick, sick—he looked up at Akamatsu, staring at Amami with a bit of horror in her eyes.  _ Sick, sick, sick, sick—  _

Momota let out a shaky breath. His voice was pained, resigned. “Why do people have to kill people, Kokichi?” As soon as he asked that, he realized he shouldn’t have. After all, it wasn’t like he himself hadn’t committed murder before. He’s only ever killed Ouma, but that didn’t make the blood in his hands any less  _ pink _ , nor any less viscous.

Ouma looked up and gave him a knowing smile. “People do atrocious things when pushed to the limit, Momota-chan. It’s the human condition. It doesn’t make them horrible, it makes them human.”

Human... human, human, human...  _ Maybe I  _ am  _ still human,  _ Momota realized. But that sounded silly. Really silly. He stared at Ouma, stared at the way he stared at Amami, stared at the way he  _ glared  _ at Shirogane, before starting to walk out of the library, pulling Momota with him, as if he couldn’t quite stand being in the room any longer. Momota frowned.

“Do you like Amami?” he asked, a tad bit troubled, because Ouma seemed to react really strongly to the mystery Ultimate’s death. But he reminded himself that Ouma was  _ allowed  _ to like people other than himself. He didn’t  _ own  _ the Supreme Leader... although sometimes he wished he did.

“I don’t dislike him,” Ouma simply stated. “Come on, let’s investigate.”

‘Investigate’ meant fool around in the entrance hall, apparently. Ouma only looked at the Monokuma File once and then proceeded to pester Momota to play a game. They played an infinite game of rock-paper-scissors until Monokuma’s voice rang from the speakers, signaling the end of the investigation. Momota felt the familiar sense of trepidation surface inside him as he remembered what was to come. Akamatsu was... a good person. Momota wished there was a timeline where she didn’t pick up that shot put ball.

When the trial came, Ouma playfully pushed Toujou away from her podium, grinning as he told her to scram, and the astronaut felt his heart swell with happiness at the thought that Ouma made an effort to be beside him.

Ouma was acting really weird in this timeline, Momota observed. He opened up too easily, accepted him too easily, believed him too easily. But he didn’t hate it.

It was a relief that something different happens every once in a while.

* * *

 

“You know what, I think this is actually the eighty-second,” Momota said after the first class trial, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he stared at his fingers. Ouma hummed as he sat on the bed beside him, (they were in his room again. Momota didn’t know why Ouma lets him in his room so easily this timeline… but did it matter? No, because he was  _ ecstatic _ ) giving Momota a calculating look. Momota remembered that in the fifty-seventh timeline Ouma was a  _ mess  _ after Akamatsu’s execution, and this time he wondered what was different. This timeline Ouma seemed to be more interested in figuring  _ Momota  _ out rather than figuring the Killing Game. It was… a tad unnerving, but not bad. Not bad at all.

“Hmm… so you’ve really gone through this Killing Game eighty-two times?” Ouma gave him a smile that bordered on sympathetic. “Wow, Momota-chan has been through a lot.”

Momota laughed.  _ A lot  _ was putting it lightly. Regardless, he nodded enthusiastically.

“Must be why Momota-chan looked  _ sooo  _ unhinged right now. You’re such a good actor, though, I’m almost impressed! To think you managed to convince everyone else that you’re  _ sane…  _ ” The Supreme Leader chuckled.

“I-I had a lot of practice,” Momota replied bashfully. “And you… you taught me…”

Ouma cocked an eyebrow. “I did?”

“Y-Yeah…” Momota nodded, a fond smile gracing his face. “Yeah…”

“What else did I do, Momota-chan?”

“A lot of things!” Momota grinned as he leaned in, eyes alight with unadulterated delight. “You… you once pranked the  _ shit  _ out of the entire academy with bugs! And uhh… you killed me, one time. And other times you killed Iruma and Gonta! Sometimes you kill Shuuichi and Harumaki too! A-And… there was a timeline where you were into cosplay, and sometimes you spend a lot of time in the Inventor’s lab…” he pulled at his hair a bit as he frowned. “I don’t get it… sometimes it seems as though you’re determined to end the game, and sometimes it’s as if you’re just fooling around…” Ouma nodded thoughtfully as he placed a hand on Momota’s cheek again, making the astronaut close his eyes. “And there are timelines where you say you love me, and timelines where you hate my guts… timelines where you make me kill you and timelines where you let me die… in the hangar... in your arms…” Momota trailed off and  _ giggled. _

A pause. Suddenly, Ouma murmured. “I love you, Momota-chan.”

Momota’s heart skipped a beat. He felt elation spread in his chest as he opened his eyes, seeing Ouma’s expression: a sad smile, lilac eyes shining with pure adoration. His lips twitched. “S-So soon?”

Ouma shrugged. “I figured Momota-chan needed something nice this timeline,” he said as he leaned closer and kissed Momota’s lips, very lightly, making the astronaut stammer. The Supreme Leader fluttered his eyelashes in a way that was  _ almost  _ seductive, and Momota had to make an effort to keep his hands to his sides. “Unless Momota-chan doesn’t want it?”

“I want it!” Momota immediately replied, as if he was fearful that Ouma would ever think otherwise. “I want you… I-I… I love you, too…” with that, he felt his cheeks go warm, and Ouma giggled at the display, flicking at his nose.

“I’m flattered,” Ouma said with a sparkle in his eyes, before he sighed and stood up. “And I’m sorry.”

Momota blinked innocently.  _ Huh?  _ “What?”

“Nothing!”

Ouma grinned as he skipped over towards the whiteboard, picking up the whiteboard marker and writing numbers right under Momota’s picture:  **67-82** . Momota tilted his head. Why did that look so familiar? Oh...  _ oh.  _ Right. Ouma writes numbers sometimes... though it wasn’t quite as often as his other quirks. Now that Momota thought about it, he’d only ever seen him write those around twenty times in his eighty-five runs...

“What do those numbers mean?” he asked. “I notice you write them occasionally.”

Ouma looked thoughtful. “Do I?”

“Y-Yeah… A few timelines ago, you wrote  **73-76** . And a few timelines before that is  **37-64** . I don’t get it…” His eyes lit up as he crossed his ankles on the edge of the bed. “Is this a game, Kokichi?”

Ouma stared at the numbers on his whiteboard. “Hmm~ maybe it is. Maybe everything is just one  _ sick  _ game to someone, Momota-chan.”

Momota’s smile faded. “I don’t understand.”

Ouma smiled as he skipped towards him, placing his hands over his shoulder, giggling as he pulled him closer and breathed teasingly against his lips. “You don’t have to.”

Momota frowned as Ouma started kissing down his neck. “You’re distracting me. Why are you distracting me?”

“Don’t you want to be distracted?”

_ God,  _ he does. Ouma’s lips against his skin felt  _ divine.  _ He could feel himself slipping, falling into a familiar rhythm of Ouma’s movements, languid fingers pushing him down on the bed, a sly smirk as he was straddled, and Momota felt his breaths getting ragged as he instinctively held the Supreme Leader by the hips, caressing the thin fabric of his shirt— 

— _ and Ouma was crying, pushing him away,  _ please stop, Momota-chan, I don’t like this, I don’t  _ want  _ this— 

Momota immediately pushed the Supreme Leader away with enough force to send him crashing down, out of the bed. Ouma yelped as he hit the ground with a thud, wincing, and guilt immediately stabbed Momota’s chest, as he tried to explain himself. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! J-Just... d-don’t do that... You  _ really  _ shouldn’t do that... haha... ha...” His voice broke as he covered his ears, panicking. What was that? Was that Ouma crying?  _ Oh god, no. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!  _ It wasn’t stopping. It wasn’t stopping—make it stop! Momota whimpered, his heavy breaths instantly evolving into sharp gasps, as panic overwhelmed him in a way that was making his whole body shake with trepidation. “Make it stop, make it stop—I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Kokichi, I  _ swear  _ I didn’t mean it... I didn’t mean it—”

Ouma stared at him, wide-eyed, evidently surprised with his sudden outburst. He sat up hesitantly, reaching a hand out to touch him— 

Momota scrambled away from his reach, practically  _ plastering  _ himself to the wall, if only he could completely  _ pass through  _ it, if only he could  _ suffocate  _ himself inside it,  _ definitely  _ that place would be devoid of air... just like space... just like his  _ punishment— _ **_PUNISHMENT TIME! PUNISHMENT TIME!_ ** _ Shut up Monokuma you fucking bear I HATE YOU! _

The Supreme Leader had the gall to look wounded. Momota  _ laughed.  _ How absurd! Momota was only protecting him! He shouldn’t show any kindness to an  _ animal  _ like him! He had no idea... he had no  _ fucking clue—  _

“Momota-chan... did I do something horrible to you?”

Before he could stop himself he was already responding. “Yes! A lot! But it’s okay, Kokichi, it’s okay... I  _ love  _ you!” he  _ giggled.  _ “You can put me through  _ anything _ , and I’d still love you.” Yes, he loved him. He loved him  _ a lot!  _ Perhaps a little  _ too much?  _ Because... if he didn’t love him so much, then he wouldn’t do something so horrible. If he didn’t love him so much, he wouldn’t be so frustrated that he hated him. If he didn’t love him  _ so much,  _ then he wouldn’t touch him, kiss him,  _ take him, possess him— _ he was drunk, drunk on too much love and jealousy, and he had no one to blame but  _ himself. _

Ouma leaned to touch him again, and this time he actually pleaded, “Please don’t touch me!” But even as he said that he stared at his hand  _ longingly.  _ Something in Ouma’s expression  _ clicked,  _ as if he realized something. He let his hand fall.

“Momota-chan... did  _ you  _ do something horrible to  _ me _ ?”

Ouma was smart.  _ Too smart.  _ Momota felt tears spring in his eyes as he shook his head vigorously. Not because he was denying it, no, he just didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want Ouma to know,  _ god he didn’t want him to know...  _ It was one of the few things he was grateful Ouma didn’t remember. Because if he did... If he did— 

Momota would have to find some rope again. There was always some in the warehouse. He’d gladly kill himself for Ouma, because he deserved it.  _ God,  _ he deserved it. He deserved to die a  _ thousand deaths  _ for what he did, over and over and over and over and over and— 

“It’s okay.” Ouma murmured as he held his hand in front of him as if he was calming an untamed beast. “It’s okay. I’ll...” he looked thoughtful for a moment, before he muttered, “Give me your hands.”

Momota frowned.  _ Give me your hands?  _ Uncertainly, the astronaut held his hands out in front of him, remembering the time he used those hands to pin Ouma to the wall...  _ god, he wanted to cut them off now.  _ Was Ouma going to cut it off? No, Ouma wouldn’t do something so horrible. Momota should do it himself. No, cutting your own hands is  _ not  _ something  _ not crazy  _ people do. And he needed to act  _ not crazy  _ , right? Why did he have to act  _ not crazy  _ again? What does  _ not crazy  _ even mean? When you repeat the same words over and over and over again, it starts to sound like gibberish. Not crazy. Not crazy? Not. Crazy... not crazy... not crazy not crazy not— 

The whisper of cloth against his wrists brought him back to the present. He realized only then that Ouma had taken off his neckerchief, and for a moment Momota was transfixed by the white milky  _ unblemished  _ skin underneath. His skin wasn’t one filled with bruises, hickeys, bites and blood— _ no.  _ His skin was soft and unmarred, and  _ pure  _ , and untouched... and not at all...  _ abused—  _

Something cold dripped down Momota’s cheek.  _ Huh? _

“Does this make it better?” Ouma asked, looking up at him. It was only then that Momota stared at his hands, registering that the missing neckerchief was now tied around his wrists, holding them together like a pair of handcuffs. Momota tugged at it absentmindedly. It was tight... not  _ too  _ tight but tight enough, enough for his movements to be restricted. He knew if he actually put some force on it, this piece of fabric likely won’t hold together well enough to defy him—but there was something about being restricted by Ouma’s favorite scarf that sent a certain warmth inside him. For some reason, the image of it was enough to calm his irrational thoughts, soothe his worries and fears, silence his inner demons...

He nodded. Ouma’s eyes lit up, delighted as he reached over and wiped the stray tear from Momota’s cheek. “I won’t let you do something horrible to me again... just trust me, okay?”

Momota stared at his bound hands for a long moment... and nodded. Was it his imagination, or did Ouma let out a sigh of relief? Why would someone like him be concerned about someone like Momota anyway? That’s weird, that’s weird, that’s so weird— 

Ouma was staring at him with a concerned expression. Which was weird. Ouma was rarely so honest with his facial expressions, so maybe that meant that he was lying right now too? Maybe Ouma hated him, and he’s just putting up with him—the thought sent a stab of pain in Momota’s chest, but he waved it off because  _ who cares?  _ Really, who cared at this point? Certainly  _ not  _ him. All that mattered was that Ouma was  _ staring at him.  _ Whether in disgust or anger or concern or care, it really didn’t matter. Momota was already happy that Ouma was spending so much time on a piece of shit like him. 

Ouma was still talking. How  _ dare  _ Momota not listen to him. “Momota-chan should relax for the rest of this timeline. You look so tired.”

Tired?  _ Tired.  _ Momota  _ does  _ feel tired. He swallowed hard. “I-I can’t... If I don’t support Shuuichi... Toujou would get away with everything... we’ll all die—”

“So what?” Ouma’s voice was unnaturally cold to Momota’s ears. “If what you’re saying is true, then you’ve seen us all die around eighty-two times before.”

_ Eighty-two, eighty-two, eighty-two...  _ Momota curled up in a ball and rocked himself a bit, as if to soothe himself. “Y-You’re right,” he murmured. “But... seeing you all die at once... is gruesome...” He  _ laughed  _ . “A school-wide execution... everyone looked like ants... popping one by one... blood everywhere— _ haha... haaah... _ ” He swallowed hard, eyes flitting around him... screaming, everyone is screaming,  _ I want to help, please let me help—NO! Shuuichi! Harumaki! Kokichi! KOKICHI KOKICHI KOKICHI— _ he whimpered. Ouma was in front of him again. Worried, concerned,  _ alive— _ “I-I don’t want to see... something so horrible again...”

Ouma hummed softly. He looked thoughtful _.  _ Momota loved watching him think. A small body with such a  _ brilliant  _ mind thinking up such  _ grand ideas  _ was always a wonder to behold. But when he spoke, to Momota’s confusion, his idea wasn’t grand at all. Quite unlike him, actually.

“I’ll take care of it then,” he decided.

Momota frowned, confused. “Take care of...?”

Ouma grinned. “The group! I’m the Ultimate Supreme Leader after all, don’t you think being the group leader is a very fitting role for me? I mean, I know I’ve been a little shit since the beginning, but I’m sure Saihara-chan and the others will come around over time! So all my beloved Momota-chan has to do is rest!”

Momota stared at him, wide-eyed, uncertain. “Kokichi, why are you doing this...?”

“Nishishi! Does it matter?”

Does it matter?  _ Does it matter?  _ Does  _ anything  _ matter? No,  _ no,  _ Momota didn’t think so. But he was curious. He was  _ so curious.  _ Ouma smiled sadly as he leaned over and kissed his forehead. Momota winced, but this time he didn’t pull away.

“I simply want Momota-chan to regain his lost self,” Ouma was saying. “Seeing you like this... it’s unbearable.”

Momota’s head was spinning. He had a feeling that Ouma just told him something important, something that didn’t quite make sense, but he was too distraught, too tired, too  _ insane  _ to think logically through it. He simply nodded. Ouma grinned.

“That’s a good boy! So just sleep peacefully for now, okay?” he said as he brushed his finger on his cheek. “I got you.”

Momota blinked, feeling the drowsiness come to him, and he nodded. “I can sleep here...?”

“Whenever you want,” Ouma assured him.

Momota hesitated, but he laid back down on the bed, staring at Ouma uncertainly every step of the way, as if asking for permission. Ouma nodded enthusiastically, but as soon as his back was flat on the mattress he was hit with the urge to sit right back up again—“Are you sure this is a good idea?” his voice was filled with panic. “I-I don’t think this is a good idea—”

“Geez!” Ouma pouted childishly as he cuddled close to him, practically  _ pinning  _ him to the bed. “This isn’t all about you, you know!  _ I  _ want you here. I missed my beloved Momota-chan  _ sooo much!” _

Momota frowned, confused. “Why would you miss me...? We’ve always been together since you met me...”

Ouma giggled as if he said something incredibly hilarious, but he didn’t respond. He simply nuzzled closer and sighed contentedly, as if he wanted nothing more than to revel in Momota’s warmth. It was...  _ endearing  _ , but Momota didn’t understand how  _ this  _ Ouma could be so attached to him so soon in this timeline. It just never happened before. Still, Ouma’s embrace was reassuring. The neckerchief that bound his hands together was calming. It made the cuddling a little awkward, but Ouma didn’t seem to mind.

Silence in the room. Silence in Momota’s mind. It was such a rarity, these days. Momota closed his eyes. Just as he was about to fall asleep, Ouma suddenly murmured.

“You know... whatever you did to me in the past... I don’t think it’s your fault.”

_ It is,  _ Momota wanted to say, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want this peaceful silence to be broken. It wasn’t Ouma’s fault that he was ignorant of just how  _ horrible  _ Momota could be. It wasn’t Ouma’s fault at all. But he was still talking, drawing circles on Momota’s shirt, absentmindedly.

“Because... you weren’t in your right mind. And even if you were, I can see how much you regret it, so I forgive you.”

_ You shouldn’t.  _ He didn’t want to listen to this anymore. He wanted to cover his ears, but his hands were bound.  _ Please stop talking.  _ He wasn’t.  _ Stop talking! _

“That’s why I think... Momota-chan should forgive himself too.”

_ Never. Never. Never. Never. NEVER. NEVER.  _ **_NEVER_ ** _ —  _

Ouma stiffened. Momota didn’t realize he’s been saying it out loud, murmuring the word under his breath like a chant, building up a wall of self-loathing against the gentleness Ouma offered, because if Ouma  _ knew,  _ if Ouma  _ remembered,  _ surely he’d never  _ ever  _ forgive him either— 

Ouma sighed in defeat and shrugged. “Forget I said anything.”

At that, Momota relaxed. This was  _ fine.  _ He didn’t need forgiveness. He should  _ never  _ be forgiven. Forgiveness would only make him sick. He was contented like this; it was fine— if only...  _ if only  _ he would stop being so  _ insolent!  _ Even if he knew he shouldn’t, he still enjoyed the way Ouma’s body felt against his...  _ you don’t deserve this, this isn’t about you!  _ He was simply doing this because Ouma wanted him around. He’ll do anything for Ouma. To make up for everything.  _ Anything. _

Ouma fell asleep. It was so cute. Momota smiled as he watched his face, watched the way he shifted in his sleep, watched the way his cheeks puffed slightly whenever he exhales...  _ So cute. So cute... _

He fell asleep like that, bathing in Ouma’s presence, his warmth.

For the first time in a long, long while... Momota’s dreams weren’t filled with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagining Momota's giggles in this AU honestly sends chills down my spine. XD 
> 
> Like... I've always figured that in normal circumstances he'd never be the giggling type but in here he giggles a lot. It's kinda cute... but also kinda like: WHOA WHO ARE YOU WHERE IS THE MOMOTA I KNOW AND LOVE XD


	3. Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Next few chapters might take a while to post~" 
> 
> Me: *posts the next one less than a week later*
> 
> Brain: REV MAKE UP YOUR GODDAMN MIND
> 
> Me: B-But.... But.... Oumota..... O_O

When Momota opened his eyes, the neckerchief on his wrists was gone. But he was still in Ouma’s room... and Ouma was still there, as enthusiastic as ever, smiling cheerfully at him. Like a small sun in Momota’s small world... he was always, _always_ so bright... so bright it felt like Momota was going to burn just from watching him.  _Ah, Kokichi... Kokichi, Kokichi!_

“Good morning, my Momota-chan!” Ouma beamed.

 _My Momota-chan._ Sometimes Ouma spoke as if there were _other_ ‘Momota-chan’s. ‘Momota-chan’s that wasn’t _his._ Just another quirk from a good cycle Ouma. It was weird... but Momota didn’t mind. He certainly didn’t mind the smile Ouma was giving him either. _What did I ever do to be on the receiving end of such a charming expression?_ Momota wanted to freeze it in time and stare at it forever—surely, he was dreaming, because a morning in this accursed academy couldn’t possibly start _this_ well, could it? This place was _hell._ So why was Momota experiencing this strange bit of heaven? Yes, that’s what this was. A dream. It couldn’t have been anything else.

Ouma was still talking, teasing. “You were sleeping like a baby, so I decided not to wake you up! I brought you some breakfast by the way... though it’s about time for lunch right now. Geez... what kind of astronaut trainee are you? You don’t even look like you’re taking care of yourself—”

A sharp gasp startled Momota, as Ouma suddenly held him by the wrist. _What did I do? I’m sorry, I’m sorry—_ Momota flinched, but Ouma didn’t seem to notice, as his teasing voice was replaced with demanding urgency. “Stop that.”

Momota frowned. _Stop what?_ He looked down, only to realize that he’s been scratching his arm so hard that blood was flowing down his skin. Like little train tracks... only the tracks were horribly irregular, and it would be a _really bad_ idea to put a train on it. People would crash and die. He stared at his own blood, the _unnaturally pink_ liquid, transfixed. “ _Oh._ ”

Ouma looked annoyed. “Oh? _Oh?!_ What the hell were you doing, stupid?!”

Momota blinked, taken aback by the anger in his voice. “I was...” _Huh?_ What was he doing again? He stared back down at the wounds. “I _think_ I was checking... if I was dreaming or something.”

“If you’re going to check, just pinch. Like _this!"_ As Ouma said that, he leaned in and pinched Momota’s cheek, hard. Momota winced as he rubbed it, murmuring with a small “ow...”. Ouma placed his hands on his hips and _glared._ “ _That’s_ how you check if it’s a dream. And for the record, this _isn’t_ a dream. I am _real._ And I’m here. And I am _not_ going to let you hurt yourself again as long as you’re under my care, got it?”

Momota nodded slowly, feeling like a kid being scolded by their parent. “I really didn’t mean it...”

Ouma pursed his lips as he stared at his arms. He simply sighed and gave him a stern look. “Don’t you _dare_ move. I’ll be back in a moment.” And with that, he walked out of the room.

Momota hummed as he waited. He was obedient, he didn’t dare move a muscle. He wasn’t sure how long it took for Ouma to come back, he just stared at the scratches on his arms while he was gone, wanting nothing more than to add more and _more and more_ train tracks and watch and watch and watch until his arms were filled with _lots and lots of pink—_ it would be pretty, he was sure. He wanted to do it _so badly._ But Ouma said not to move. So Momota _wouldn’t_ move. It was very rare that Ouma ever asks anything of him. He didn’t want to disappoint _this_ Ouma. Not when he was being _so good_ to him.

When Ouma came back he was carrying a first aid kit. He was silent as he worked, but he seemed strangely angry, as he _poured_ the antiseptic on the scratches and _attacked_ the area with cotton balls. Momota didn’t so much as flinch, this pain was nothing compared to everything else, everything else he had gone through. But it was fascinating to see Ouma take care of him, and by the time he was done, Momota was giggling.

Ouma glared at him as he tidied the bandages up and placed it back on the kit. “What’s so funny?”

Momota bit his lip to stifle his giggles. “Just... seeing you so agitated over small scratches...”

Ouma bit his lip. “You were _hurting yourself_ ,” he said, as if _that_ was somehow concerning.

Momota giggled harder. “Those scratches? Those were _nothing!_ Y-You... you should’ve seen me when I... when I...” the giggles faded when he saw that Ouma was turning pale. “B-Bad topic?” He scratched the back of his head. “N-Never mind...”

Ouma sighed as he fiddled uneasily with the first aid kit, closing it. “I hate this.” He murmured, and immediately Momota’s heart sank. Ouma let out shaky breath. “I can’t... deal with _this_.”

“I’m a handful, I know.” Momota said, looking away, eye flitting around the room, nervously. Ouma’s eyes were sad. Momota hated it when they looked sad. Momota hated it when they looked sad _because of him._ Oh no... Oh no, oh no oh no _oh no oh no—_ panic. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry, I’ll see myself out—”

“No!” Ouma suddenly said, forcefully, as he pushed Momota down on the bed by the shoulder, so that he would remain sitting down. His lilac eyes looked intense, and determined, and _beautiful._ Momota was immediately enthralled, caught in his spell. “Where do you think you’re going, mister?!”

Momota’s head was spinning. He just felt so _confused_. “The warehouse, obviously.”

Ouma looked alarmed. “Why?”

 _Why?_ Momota frowned. That’s right... _why?_ It was instinct. For some reason he just felt like it. There was a purpose, he knew. There was something he wanted to get from the warehouse, he _knew_ . The feeling was crawling in him, nagging at him, _clawing_ at him—

An indignant gasp. “I just bandaged that!”

Momota looked down and realized he was scratching his arms again. He chuckled sheepishly. “S-Sorry.”

Ouma pouted angrily at him and opened the first aid kit yet again, murmuring complaints under his breath. He caught words amongst his incoherent mumbles... something about _stupid astronaut_ and _I’m not good at this shit_ and _how does someone even give emotional support?!_ Momota felt his heart go heavy as he realized how much of a burden he was being, this wasn’t something a hero would do at all, but then again, it’s not as if Momota was ever a hero to begin with. He was just... a regular guy. And regular guys _shatter_ when slammed against their emotional limits, over and over and over again.

“Sorry,” Momota repeated, more solemnly this time. Ouma looked up at him through dark plum-colored lashes. Did Momota imagine it, or were there tears edging at the corner of his eyes?

“Fuck you.” Ouma replied.

The rest of the morning was spent in silence.

* * *

 

“If I told you I’m looping too, would you believe me?”

They were drinking tea, one afternoon. Momota liked tea, but only because Ouma _loved_ tea. Ouma told him once that it was something he used to do a lot with his subordinates, to improve productivity or some shit. Momota thought it was effective—he _does_ feel productive right now, but it’s probably less because of the tea and more because of Ouma’s presence. Leading the group made him busier than Momota would have liked, as he was _always_ trying to settle some problem within them. He was such a good leader, it even surprised Momota. But now that he thought about it, leading was his _talent,_ so maybe he should’ve seen it coming... _huh?_

He was lost in his thoughts again. Ouma was staring at him expectantly. Did he ask something? Realizing that he was off with his head in space _again_ , something he already knew Momota did a lot, Ouma repeated the question, and Momota stared at him incredulously.

“No. You can’t be,” he easily replied. Was Ouma in the mood for thought experiments again? Maybe. “Because... you’re not stupid. Did you forget what I told you about my first ten timelines? If you were looping too, you wouldn’t do your mastermind plan over and over and over again like that...” he trailed off, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, and deciding that his line of logic made sense. He felt a little proud of himself, thinking logically for the first time in a long while! Ouma would be proud! He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “You’re smarter than that. That’s just not _you,_ the Ouma Kokichi I know.”

For a moment Ouma seemed amused. He twirled his teaspoon on his teacup, staring at the swirls his reflection made on the dark-colored liquid. He smiled.

“You’re right. It’s not me at all.”

* * *

 

Their classmates were giving him a strange look.

Momota shuffled uneasily. _Why_ ? Was it so strange that he was eating breakfast with the group? At one point he was almost tempted to hide behind Ouma, but that was stupid. For one, Ouma was way too small to hide him properly. And two: Momota Kaito _doesn’t_ hide behind people. Huh... _huh?_

Unease. Uncertainty. It’s been so long since he had a similar thought. He thought he’d already forgotten what _Momota Kaito_ does. But he remembered, and he remembered _perfectly_ \--- _Momota Kaito_ was way, way, _waaaay_ stronger than Momota was, strong enough not to let the despair get to him. Strong enough not to let any obstacles get to him. _Momota Kaito_ was a man of passion and ambition, a beacon of hope, the one who smiles in the face of death, just to encourage the people he wanted to encourage, just to push them in the direction of their freedom.

Momota missed being _Momota Kaito._

Ouma didn’t talk to him much for the entirety of that meal, but Momota could tell he was watching him, looking out for him. It was his fingers that brush Momota’s knuckles whenever a friendly question from Saihara startles him, or whenever Iruma makes a bitingly lewd remark that Momota didn’t like. He wondered what Ouma must have told them, because they didn’t seem surprised at all with the silent gesture of affections the Supreme Leader was _pouring_ on him all throughout that morning, the way he leaned against him and occasionally offered to feed him a bite, the way he’d pile food on his plate because “ _you’re a growing boy, Momota-chan!”_ , the way he’d gasp indignantly at Toujou for not letting him have the astro cake he wanted, yelling “ _it’s not for me, it’s for Momota-chan, mom!”._ Momota felt uneasy, being _spoiled_ like that, when he practically had to beg to get even a _sliver_ of attention in most other timelines... _what’s different? Why? Why why why why why?_

After breakfast, he approached Ouma and asked _why,_ but the Supreme Leader didn’t respond. He simply lifted Momota’s sleeves and hummed approvingly when he saw that Momota’s bandages were still intact, untouched and unmarred, the pink seeping through the white gauze in small dots, like constellations.

“I need to change those soon,” Ouma muttered.

“I don’t think they’re bleeding underneath the gauze anymore, really,” Momota assured him.

Ouma giggled as he lifted his hand and kissed his wrist, making him blush. The Supreme Leader sighed, and there was a relieved tone to it. Momota wondered why. “I’m glad.”

“Why?” Momota asked, still wondering.

“Well... your behavior is getting more and more normal, I guess? It’s refreshing. You’re acting calmer and calmer every day. Less... erratic.”

 _Am I?_ Momota frowned. _Am I? Am I? Am I?_ Maybe. He _does_ feel calmer as of late. Less tired. Less tense. Less stressed. All thanks to Ouma. So he told him. Ouma flushed and told him he was glad he was doing a good job. As if making Momota feel better was somehow his _responsibility._ But why? Momota asked him again. _Why?_

Ouma didn’t reply.

* * *

 

Hoshi was dead. And then Toujou was dead! Dead like Akamatsu, dead like Amami. Yet another big fat X on a face of a friend—Momota felt sick. Toujou climbed up a vine of thorns reaching towards freedom, only to fall thousands of feet down to her death. The crack of her fall sounded not unlike the _crack-crack-crack_ underneath the hydraulic press.

Momota almost felt sympathetic. _Almost._ But he’s seen this countless times before. It shouldn’t bother him anymore, it _shouldn’t._ When the loop starts again, Toujou would be alive. When the loop starts again, she’d kill Hoshi again. _Again and again and again and again._ It really didn’t matter anymore. _Nothing really mattered anymore._ So why... why?

Why was Momota’s heart breaking to _pieces?!_

When he burst from the trial grounds and into his dorm, he caught himself _slamming_ his hand against the wall. He punched it, and punched it and punched it... hard enough to feel it _sting_ , wishing he could’ve _done something,_ **_anything_ ** _,_ to prevent the lives from getting extinguished, to prevent the murders from occurring, to prevent the killings from ever happening, _over and over and over_ again, feeling useless and worthless and _fucking pathetic_. Amami, Akamatsu, Hoshi, and Toujou. They all died again and again and again—

_(But he’s tired, he’s tired, he’s so fucking tired)_

Momota punched the wall until the pink bled from his fists and stained the walls.

 _(I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of you I wanted to save you_ **_believe me_** _)_

Momota let out a frustrated scream.

He only realized Ouma was there when he was bandaging him again, this time his cracked fists. He looked sad when he murmured, if not a little morbidly amused. “It’s easier when you don’t consider them _alive_ , Momota-chan.” He smiled sweetly. “We’re the only _real_ people here.”

Momota stared at him incredulously. Don’t consider them alive? They were his _friends._ He shook his head vigorously, and when he spoke his voice was several shades of heartbroken. “I don’t like that.”

Ouma laughed. “And that’s why _you’re_ insane. My Momota-chan is just too sweet for his own good...” he trailed off as he finished his work, looking satisfied as he surveyed Momota’s fists.“...but don’t worry. I like that. I like that you still care about others... in your own stupid way.”

“Aren’t you the same? All you’ve done this whole timeline is care about _me._ What makes _me_ different, Kokichi?!” he demanded.

Ouma fell silent.

“You _really_ shouldn’t punch walls,” he reminded him. Momota grunted.

* * *

 

“What are you going to do about Iruma?” Momota asked, shortly after Chabashira’s death. The death that he _tried his best not to think about._ Ouma always reminded him: _it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault,_ none _of it was your fault._ It wasn’t Momota’s fault that Akamatsu picked up the shot-put ball. It wasn’t Momota’s fault that Toujou called Ryoma out after midnight. It wasn’t Momota’s fault that Shinguuji was a serial killer. _But it’s my fault that I didn’t stop them, isn’t it? ISN’T IT?! I could have stopped them! I could have done something, anything! I could have saved someone! I could have—_

The memory of the slap brought him back to his senses. Ouma’s cold gaze, the determined set in his shoulders, the flat line of his mouth. “You’re not a hero, Momota-chan.” He had said, a line that broke Momota’s heart, a line that he had told himself countless times, but coming from Ouma it just _hurt so much._ “You can’t possibly save everyone, every time. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

_There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing... wrong..._

“Is Momota-chan thinking about something unnecessary again?” Ouma suddenly asked as they entered one of the empty rooms, skipping ahead a few steps in front of him and placing his hands behind his head. The expression on his face suggested he knew _exactly_ what’s been going on in Momota’s head, and Momota swallowed hard, scratching the back of his head uneasily.

“I’m okay,” he replied, a little too quickly. “I’m fine.”

Ouma was still staring at him.

“Just a little shaken,” he admitted. “I hate... seeing their corpses.”

Ouma hummed as he nodded, apparently finding that explanation acceptable. They both knew Momota was still having a hard time swallowing the inevitability of the death of their classmates, the inevitability that Ouma seem to accept easily and readily, almost as if he was used to it. A small flame of suspicion was already rising in Momota’s chest, but he snuffed it out. Because there was _no way,_ right? _Absolutely no way._ Even Ouma admitted it. Well, technically he didn’t, but Momota really shouldn’t think about that right now. Maybe he was just overthinking it. Overthinking was... bad. Overthinking makes him want to run to the warehouse, and Ouma had already blatantly forbidden him from ever stepping in that place.

( _But why? Momota never told him what he does in the warehouse. Why is Ouma acting like he knew—)_

“Watch your step,” Ouma murmured in warning, gesturing to the center of the room, _exactly_ where the danger zone was. “You wouldn’t want to get a concussion.” Momota swallowed hard, he didn’t think he’d mentioned that detail to _this_ Ouma before.

 _(Why... is Ouma acting like he_ knew _...)_

 _Don’t think about it,_ Momota warned himself, trying to preserve what remains of his ignorance as best as he could. Because ignorance was bliss. He’d _really_ rather not know. He’s not _strong_ enough to consider it, not _strong enough_ to handle the truth. Maybe... someday... but not now. Not _now._ Not _yet._ He needed to distract himself. He asked a question earlier, right? But Ouma didn’t reply. He wanted to know his reply. _Right._

So he repeated it. “What are you going to do about Iruma?”

This time Ouma seemed as if he wasn’t going to reply yet again, but Momota gave him a wounded look, and knowing that the astronaut hated being ignored, Ouma sighed.

“Oh, right...” He looked a bit troubled, yet resigned. “That slut is still going to kill me, isn’t she?”

Ouma talked about death and murder so _nonchalantly._ Even more nonchalantly than he usually did. It unsettled Momota more than he wanted to admit. Regardless, he nodded.

“I guess I’ll just tell the group, since Saihara-chan and the others seem to trust me right now.”

Momota tried to wonder if there were other timelines where he’s done this option before. If there was, he couldn’t remember.

“I mean...” Ouma continued, looking a little _too_ sad and tired for Momota’s tastes. As if this was old news. As if this was inevitable.“It could backfire. Iruma-chan could still kill me in a different way, or she could end up killing someone else if she’s desperate enough. But I don’t really care about that anymore.”

Hearing Ouma speak like that made Momota’s heart heavy. “How can you say that? I...” he hesitated. “I want _you_ to get out this timeline too. I want Shuuichi and Harumaki to get out, too...”

Ouma gave him an unimpressed look. “And what about _you_ , Momota-chan?”

Momota stared at him incredulously and shook his head. “I’d die from my illness anyway. You saw it, didn’t you?” Ouma did, yesterday. The amount of blood Momota coughed in his sleep, staining their bedsheets. “I’ll _never_ get out. I know I won’t. It just doesn’t happen.” He wasn’t even sure if there was a way out, really. The outside world was supposedly destroyed...

“I don’t want to get out if it would mean leaving you,” Ouma said, looking deadly serious. “I promised I’d stay by your side after all.”

Momota wondered if he ever mentioned that promise this timeline. He didn’t think so.

“Buuuut...” Ouma continued, smiling at the astronaut. “This timeline was all about Momota-chan, and what he wanted! So I’ll do something to make sure that me and Saihara-chan and that killer girl will survive till the end! If one of us dies, I bet it’ll _really_ stress out my Momota-chan, I _really_ don’t want that to happen right now.”

 _My Momota-chan._ As if there were other ‘Momota-chan’s. _You’re right. It’s not me at all._ As if there were other versions of himself. _I don’t get it… sometimes it seems as though you’re determined to end the game, and sometimes it’s as if you’re just fooling around…_

Momota clenched his fists. _Don’t think about it!_ Pay attention to the conversation. Right. _Right._ Ouma was snapping his hands in front of his face, giggling. “Earth to Momota-chan! Come back here, you dummy.”

Momota looked down at him, uncertain. “So... you’re doing all this weird shit... telling me you love me, allowing me in your room, leading the group... all because you want me to not _stress out?”_

Ouma grinned, delighted. “Yeah! Momota-chan finally figured it out?”

“But why?” Momota pressed. “Why now? Why _this_ timeline? In other timelines, you don’t even care about me—”

“Not _all the time,_ surely! If Momota-chan fell in love with me, surely there are timelines where I’ve been nice to him, too?” Ouma asked, looking offended. “I want to take care of my Momota-chan, is that so bad? Seeing you so distraught hurts me too!”

“Seeing you so honest is slightly creepy,” Momota murmured. Ouma’s face went blank. _Shit._ “It’s not bad.” Momota immediately tried to fix it, hoping his lack of tact wouldn’t send their relationship in a one-eighty. “Just... why?”

Ouma let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Momota-chan asks too many questions!”

Momota scowled. “Kokichi—”

“It’s simple!” Ouma proclaimed as he skipped over and pulled him down by the jacket, catching his lips. “I _love_ you.” Momota sputtered and flushed, the words making his resolve weak, Ouma’s lips feeling so _good_ against his own. For the very first time, Momota gathered his courage and _kissed him back_ , albeit hesitantly, but the encouragement in Ouma’s soft moan made him a little more eager, as he leaned in with just a little bit more force, allowing himself to close his eyes and enjoy it. He felt Ouma’s hands linger on his arms, pulling it to place it gingerly on his hips and Momota tensed, but only briefly, as Ouma pinned it in place and murmured against his lips. “It’s okay, it’s okay... I _want_ it. Trust me.”

Momota whimpered.

He wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted. It could have been forever. But eventually Ouma pulled back, and when he did he was grinning. “See? That wasn’t so bad was it?”

Momota hesitated, unsure how he should feel. Ouma hugged Momota tightly, humming contentedly. “Remember what you said last time? That I could put you through _anything_ , and you’d still love me?” Momota nodded. Ouma looked up at him, his expression unnervingly devoid of emotion. “Don’t you think that maybe, the same goes for me?”

“That’s different,” Momota easily replied. Ouma made a knowing smile.

“It isn’t, believe me.”

Monokuma’s voice suddenly blared through the speakers, cutting their conversation short. The investigation has ended, and with it comes the start of the trial that Momota dreaded. He sighed heavily as he felt a knot in his throat growing, and suddenly he coughed hard, blood adorning his hand in rivulets, reminding him of his limited time. Ouma stared at it, sadly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he muttered.

Ouma pulled him in the direction of the dorms, uncaring for the looks their classmates were giving them. Momota instinctively wanted to hide the blood, but Ouma gave him a look and shook his head. “It wouldn’t matter.”

Ouma was right, he realized. It wouldn’t matter if the others knew Momota was sick, this time. Momota wasn’t the leader of the group, he was simply a silent onlooker that most of their classmates found strange. He didn’t really even try to talk or hang out or spend time with anyone other than Ouma. Talking to anyone while knowing what’s to come was _painful._ Everyone else simply sees him as a mere acquaintance right now. Not a dear friend. Nobody would care, not even Saihara. Nor Harukawa.

Momota felt sad at the thought. Not mattering was... unpleasant. And yet, he knew it was what he needed after eighty-one timelines of _mattering too much._ He needed a fucking break. And that was exactly what this timeline gave him, the chance to _breathe_ . This cycle was the most pleasant Momota had been in for a long, long time. He almost felt sad, knowing it was coming to an end. He wished, no, he _hoped_... that whatever Ouma was planning to do with the Iruma situation, it wouldn’t be too emotionally straining for either of them.

He squeezed Ouma’s hand, tighter.

Ouma squeezed back.

  



	4. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know where you're going,  
> But do you got room for one more troubled soul?  
> I don't know where I'm going,  
> But I don't think I'm coming home  
> And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead  
> This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end."
> 
> \- Alone Together by Fall Out Boy

It was the night that Iruma would tell them to meet at the computer room, and Ouma still hasn’t come back to his room. Iruma still hasn’t knocked on the door like Momota expected she would either, but then again, maybe she didn’t think that Momota would be staying in the Supreme Leader’s dormitory. Still, with the way she was, Momota figured she’d _at least_ consider that he’s here since his relationship with Ouma wasn’t really a closely-held secret this timeline. Momota had heard their classmates talking about them sometimes, when they thought Momota wasn’t listening. Momota, the weird guy who didn’t talk too much. Momota, who stares at them sometimes in a slightly creepy way. Momota, Ouma’s boyfriend. Momota, Ouma’s _pet._ The last one always made the astronaut feel a little insulted. _Thanks a lot, Iruma._

Weeks ago, he probably wouldn’t mind being called Ouma’s pet. Being Ouma’s _anything_ was a blessing he didn’t deserve. But somehow, throughout the daily teasing and the daily arguing about scratches and bandages, and the daily lectures about how _that behavior is bad, Momo-chan, you really shouldn’t think so lowly of yourself, it’s creeping me out—_ Momota’s head was clearing, just a little bit. It was slowly getting easier and easier to think straight. He wondered if that was a good thing, but Ouma seemed delighted by his ‘progress’, so he supposed it was. Sometimes Ouma’s interactions with him feel less like a relationship and more like a rehabilitation program... not that he minded one bit. God knows he needed help to pull himself back together. He’s been in pieces for way too long.

By the time it was midnight, Momota was already feeling slightly worried. _Where’s Kokichi? He isn’t... he’s alright, isn’t he?_ He absentmindedly tapped his foot on the floor, uneasily tugging at his bandages because Ouma gets _sad_ when he scratches underneath it, anxiety rippling in his gut. He coughed on his hand, once, twice, but didn’t bother to clean up because _where is Kokichi? He should be back by now. What if Iruma killed him, oh my god, what if he’s dead what if I see his body by tomorrow_ **_oh my god_ ** _Kokichi, Kokichi, Kokichi, come back—_

“I’m home, honey!” Ouma said as he opened the door with a flourish, looking as if he was about to say something witty, but whatever it was, he didn’t get the chance to say it. Momota practically _ran into him_ , hugging him tight, worry and anxiety bubbling in his throat as he tried to calm his nerves and—“Kokichi! Kokichi, you’re back, oh my god, you’re back—” he pulled back and held him by the shoulder, searching his body for any injuries. “Are you alright?! What took you so long?! Did Iruma hurt you?! I was _worried,_ dammit, where have you been—”

“Wait!” Ouma suddenly yelled as he held a finger to Momota’s lips, shutting him up. The Supreme Leader narrowed his eyes at Momota, as if he was readying himself to start another lecture. He put his hands on his hips and glowered. “Were you panicking again while I was gone? Geez, Momota-chan—”

Momota stared at him indignantly. “My panic is justified. This is the night Iruma _dies_ . I swear to god, Kokichi, if I find you dead—” Ouma wasn’t listening. He seemed to find his arms infinitely more interesting, checking to see if there were new scratches he had to take care of. It was routine at this point, a standard procedure. Every time Momota gets anxious, Ouma just _had_ to check his arms. The astronaut sighed, irritated, whimpering like a kicked puppy. “You’re ignoring me again.”

Ouma had a stupid smile on his face when he looked up, evidently pleased he found none. “Good boy!” he praised.

Momota covered his face in an attempt to hide the embarrassing blush he was sporting. “Y-You know, the more you repeat that, the more it’s starting to sound patronizing.”

“Nishishi! It’s always been patronizing! You were just too out of your head to notice it before, my beloved!”

Momota mumbled profanities under his breath.

“Besides, don’t deny that you liked it, Momota-chan! Don’t you, my submissive bitch baby?” Ouma teased. Momota gasped indignantly, looking wounded.

“I’m not your submissive bitch— _mmph_.” His eyes widened as Ouma shut him up with a kiss, pulling him down by the collar. Hesitantly, he kissed back, letting his hand wander on Ouma’s hips, pressing small circles against his shirt. Ouma hummed in approval, as his hands reached up to rest themselves on Momota’s shoulders... that was when he noticed. He pulled back, concerned. “Kokichi?”

“Hm?” Ouma eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed. He leaned up to try and catch Momota’s lips again, but the astronaut pulled back even more, to which Ouma pouted disapprovingly. Any other time, Momota would have found this as typical of him, asking affection in a very childish manner. But his shoulders were too tense. His eyes were almost pleading. And his hands... they were shaking.

The realization hit him. He felt his stomach sink.

“Kokichi... you did something, didn’t you?”

Ouma looked up at him with a blank expression, before making a sly smile so familiarly devious that it sent a chill down Momota’s spine. He leaned up and breathed on Momota’s lips, completely ignoring his question. “Momota-chan, the inside of your mouth tastes like blood,” he whispered.

Momota sputtered, realizing he was right. He _had_ coughed blood up earlier. “D-Don’t swallow it! We don’t know if it’s contagious—”

“It’s not,” Ouma said confidently. Even so, he still walked towards the bathroom to spit the blood out, murmuring “gross...” under his breath as he did so. Once he was done, he pulled Momota in to clean him up as well, like he always does, pushing his hands under the sink and washing the dried blood away...

His hands were still shaking, Momota noticed.

“What did you do, Kokichi?” Momota pressed. He had a feeling about what exactly Ouma did tonight, and the thought made him sad, knowing he wasn’t able to anything to prevent it... or to at least be by his side through it all. Ouma looked up at him and giggled, but somehow the giggle sounded _pained._ There was a fear in his eyes, as if he was scared of Momota’s judgement. But that was silly, Momota thought, because after everything the astronaut himself had done, he didn’t think he was in a position to judge _anyone._

“Will Momota-chan love me any less for it?” Ouma asked. Momota didn’t even need to consider it. He shook his head.

“Nothing you’ll do can ever make me love you less,” he answered honestly. “I just... didn’t want to see you get executed... or something.”

“Then... you don’t need to concern yourself about it,” Ouma replied. “There won’t be any trials, this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

The next morning, the entire class had noticed that Iruma had gone missing. Nobody knew why or _how._ Ouma’s face looked unusually cold when the others brought up the matter of her disappearance. Momota looked down at his rice ball and swallowed it along with the bile rising in his throat.

_Will Momota-chan love me any less for it?_

Momota leaned against the Supreme Leader, kissing the top of his head. Ouma looked startled when he stared at him, because Momota rarely showed any public affection. Momota held his hand and ran his thumb across his knuckles, in what he hoped was a soothing manner, before whispering in his ear, “I love you.”

Ouma trembled very slightly, before he grinned widely. Momota looked in his eyes, noting that they were far too tired, far too sad, and far too familiar. He realized only then that Ouma’s eyes were very similar to his, the eyes of someone who had seen far too much in a single lifetime.

 _Ah,_ Momota realized. _I’m so stupid._

He didn’t want to consider it before. Didn’t want to be proven right. Didn’t want to even explore the _possibility_ that Ouma remembered some things, that maybe, just maybe... he might have known what Momota had done at his worst. That maybe he _did_ know what Momota does in the warehouse. That maybe that was the reason his eyes looked so alarmed when he mentioned it. That maybe Ouma meant it, that he didn’t mind, that he _forgives_ him for it, that he wanted Momota to forgive himself too— what if Momota wasn’t as alone as he had thought? What if someone else was experiencing this hell on earth? Maybe that someone was Ouma and maybe, just maybe... it was selfish of him to want to ignore all the signs the Supreme Leader kept giving him.

They probably both have done _unspeakable_ things at this point. And maybe it wasn’t just Momota who’s afraid of being hated for it. Not by the person who they’d managed to fall in love with.

Someone’s gotta have to man up and admit it, at one point. And he had a feeling that _that_ someone wasn’t going to be Ouma. Momota sighed.

 _Momota Kaito_ wasn’t a coward. Momota wasn’t, either.

* * *

It was always surreal to be in a timeline where Ouma didn’t push his mastermind plans through. Momota could count on his fingers how many times this had happened, and he had to admit he wished Ouma would give up on it more often, because the peace it brings to Momota’s world was _incredible,_ simply serene. It meant that Momota, for once, wouldn’t have to worry about getting trapped in the exisal hangar, and that he for once didn’t have to fear hearing that sickening _crack-crack-crack_ yet again... at least for a little while.

As Momota laid there in the courtyard, underneath a blanket of stars, he pulled Ouma closer to his chest as they stargazed, not unlike the times Ouma would pull him out of his room and help him out of his panic attack in all the other good timelines. Now that Momota thought about it, now that he had the mental capacity to consider and realize it—good cycle Ouma has always taken care of him. This was just the first time that he had not been subtle about it.

Ouma was a liar, but Momota supposed he must have his own reasons why he’s doing this, why he didn’t tell the astronaut what was going on. And while Momota didn’t understand it, perhaps he wasn’t meant to, or he simply didn’t _have to_ , like the Supreme Leader told him countless times.

He felt his chest tightening, vision blurring. Someone was coughing, and Momota didn’t have to take too long to know who it was. A cascade of warm, sticky, pink liquid flowed down his chin, staining the shirt that had once been white, now crusty with dried blood—evidence of the amount of blood he had coughed up since they went out here this evening. Momota stared at it, sadly.

_This timeline will end soon._

“It’s always nice to die under the stars,” Momota commented when he saw Ouma stare at the blood blankly, trying to lighten the mood.

“I wish I could do something so you didn’t have to,” Ouma confessed as he traced the blood with his finger.

Momota caught his finger and kissed the inside of his wrist, making the Supreme Leader giggle. “You’ve done enough. You brought me back. _Thank you._ ”

Ouma grinned widely. “Did I do a great job, Momota-chan?”

“Yeah...” Momota trailed off as he glanced back up in the sky. “Yeah, you did.”

Silence. Ouma sighed as he nuzzled close against his chest once again, as if making the most of his warmth while it lasted. In a few minutes, Momota knew, he wouldn’t be warm anymore, and the image made him sad, the thought of someone as small and fragile as Ouma, cuddling up with a cold corpse. He almost felt like apologizing, but it wasn’t his fault that he died every timeline. It wasn’t his fault that his body couldn’t go on. It wasn’t his fault that he was ridden with this _goddamn_ illness, that he couldn’t last until the end. It wasn’t... his fault at all.

“I’m sorry,” Momota found himself saying, regardless. He stared down at his arms, bandage-less. “This is the last night... I think.”

“Yeah...” Ouma replied easily. “I figured.” He hummed as he drew circles against his shirt, which eventually turned into hearts and constellations. Momota felt his chest grow warm with love and affection. Suddenly, Ouma looked up, but there was hesitation in his eyes. It was a strange look on him, because the Supreme Leader rarely hesitates, and that moment he looked less like he didn’t know what to say and more like he didn’t want to say it. Eventually, he relented, and sighed. “Momota-chan.”

“Yeah?” Momota asked, softly nudging him encouragingly.

Ouma licked his lips. “If... If you could forget everything... would you do it?”

Momota frowned. “Why are you asking this?”

Ouma looked away. He looked uncomfortable. “There’s a flashback light that I had Iruma modify before I—” he cut off sharply, swallowing hard. “Before she... disappeared.”

Momota stared at him, wide-eyed. He continued.

“I don’t know if it’ll work, but with luck, it could take away your memories from the past Killing Games you played. You could be yourself again.” He fiddled uneasily with his scarf, not meeting his eyes. “Sure, eventually you’d figure out you’re in a loop, but you’d have a chance to start anew, and maybe this time you can get attached to someone who won’t give you a hard time. Like Saihara-chan. Or hell, even your Harumaki.”

Momota was horrified. “I’d... forget you? Forget this? Forget my feelings for you?”

Ouma gave him a calculating look. “You _do_ realize that your attachment to me isn’t exactly healthy, don’t you, Momota-chan?”

 _Healthy_ . Who cares about healthy? Momota doesn’t. Maybe his feelings were a little _too_ strong, and a little _too_ obsessive, but it was _real_. His feelings for Ouma were real. The only thing that felt real in a long, long time.

The thought that Ouma wanted to get rid of it... had his heart breaking.

“Is that it?” Momota asked, pained.“You don’t want to deal with me anymore?”

Ouma’s eyes widened for a moment, before he lifted his chin indignantly. “I never said that.”

“You implied it.”

Ouma swallowed hard, before smirking. “Well, yes, maybe I _am_ getting sick of you, Momota-chan. So take the goddamn chance. It could be good for you.”

 _Liar._ Momota thought sadly. He leaned over and kissed Ouma on the temple, gently. Ouma melted in his touch, sighing as if he couldn’t help himself. Forgetting everything… _everything_ he’s been through was tempting, in some ways. There were just so many regrets, so many sins, so much _self-loathing_ he had collected over the timelines, so much that he knew he’d never be the same anymore. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t leave Ouma alone.

“No,” Momota said with finality.

Ouma looked irritated. “Momota-chan—”

“You want me to be myself again, right?” Momota retorted, a little too aggressively. “And I’m being _myself_ right now. Momota Kaito doesn’t run away from his regrets, he doesn’t run away from his sins. And most importantly...” he gazed into Ouma’s eyes, determinedly. “He wouldn’t leave the love of his life all alone.”

Ouma’s lips quivered, before he laughed. A laugh that was so forced, it was _painful._ “W-What are you talking about—”

“Do you really think I wouldn’t notice? Your lying skills seem to have degraded over time.” No, not that it degraded, it’s like Ouma didn’t even _try._ There were tears edging in his eyes, _real_ tears, and he sniffled, burying his face in his chest—

“I-Idiot...” he murmured.

Momota laughed softly as he played with his hair. “Someday I want you to explain why. Why you didn’t tell me. But I think I’m starting to understand what’s going on.” He started, frowning. “How often do you find me?”

Ouma hesitated, before he replied. “Once every four timelines. Sometimes it takes a while...”

“But when I’m not around, who takes my place?”

Ouma looked up to stare at him, smiling uneasily. “A _you_ who’s not looping. He’s not quite as interesting as you are, my Momota-chan.”

Momota sighed heavily. He supposed that’s how things were to himself as well. “That’s... crazy.”

Silence. Ouma seemed to relax just a little bit, as he started pressing small, comforting kisses against Momota’s neck. Momota tensed, before humming contentedly.

“Do you think someone else out there is looping too?” he asked, worried. “Time is... too broken.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ouma admitted. “But if there were, I don’t think I’ve met them before.”

Momota nodded thoughtfully, before he swallowed hard, guilt eating at his insides. He didn’t want to ask this next question, not really, but he told Ouma and himself that he wouldn’t run away anymore. He needed to face this, head on. “Kokichi... Are you the one I—”

“Shh,” Ouma hushed as he placed a finger on his lips. His eyes were sad, but he smiled cheerfully. “Story time! Does my beloved Momota-chan want to hear a story?”

 _A story?_ Momota frowned, but he nodded. Ouma sat up as he looked at the star-filled sky.

“Once upon a time, there was... a king! Or a horse, maybe.” He giggled. “There was this hero, or more like a crazed wolf, who did something _really, really_ terrible to him.” Momota felt his mouth turn dry. He didn’t like this story. Ouma glanced at him with a sparkle in his eye. “Do you think the horse should hate him?”

“Yes,” Momota replied, a little too quickly. His breaths were turning ragged. “He should.”

“Bingo! Yep, the horse _hated_ him. He hated him so, so much.” Ouma continued. “So he went to his good friend Sai—ah, _Shumai_ , rather—who’s this uhh... rabbit. Yeah, he’s a rabbit.” Ouma giggled, delighted, even as his metaphors were crumbling down. “They decided they’d confront the wolf, but they couldn’t find him _anywhere._ So they looked, and the horse found him in this warehouse.”

Momota’s head was spinning. It hurt. Ouma stared at him sadly.

“Do you remember the rest of the story?” he asked.

Momota shook his head, honestly. His head was too muddled back then; he was simply too far gone. Ouma held his hands and interlocked their fingers gently, lifting it to kiss his knuckles. A very mushy gesture, and Momota found himself relaxing.

“You don’t have to remember,” Ouma relented. “Just know that whatever the wolf did to the horse in the warehouse, it was worse than _anything_ else he could have done in _any_ other timeline. It was simply the _worst._ And the horse wouldn’t forget it for a long, long time.”

“Why?” Momota asked, heart breaking. He’s done something _worse_ to him? Worse than _that_? He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it— “What did I do?!” he demanded.

Ouma gasped dramatically. “Whoever said it was _you?_ Silly Momota-chan.” He giggled. Momota scowled, and to his relief, Ouma continued with a tired sigh. “The wolf… _apologized._ He apologized _brutally,_ and for a long time the horse would be wondering, what happened to him to drive him that far. For a very long time he’d be... thinking about him, and worrying about him, and fretting all over him—” He sighed as he kissed Momota’s temple, soothingly. “Let’s just say the wolf unwittingly captured his heart, but he did it forcefully, ripping it out of the horse’s chest.” He smiled widely. “The end.”

Momota felt sick. “I’m sorry.” He said as he covered his face, disgusted with himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so _so_ sorry—”

“Shh,” Ouma murmured as he took his hands off his face, smiling sadly. “The wound may still be fresh for you, but to me it happened a long time ago, Momota-chan. I’m long past over it.” He shrugged. “It was my fifth timeline. The timeline where I first met you.”

Momota let out a shaky breath, as he buried his face into Ouma’s neck, biting his lip as the tears flowed. As his emotions broke down, so did his body. His vision was blurring. His chest was heaving. Momota knew he was at his limit. And Ouma seemed to understand it too, as Momota let out a couple of pained coughs and silent whimpers.

“Call me something else,” Momota choked out, as he clutched at Ouma’s shirt, desperately. “Call me something else, so I can tell you apart.”

Ouma looked down at him, face unreadable.

“Kokichi _, please,_ ” Momota pleaded.

Ouma smiled as he leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Kaito,” he whispered. Momota’s eyes fluttered close. He felt Ouma stroking his cheek. “Kaito, Kaito... my beloved Kaito.”

Momota sobbed.

“Goodbye, Kaito.” Ouma said, his voice quivering. Momota struggled to open his eyes, and even as his vision was stained with tears, he grinned.

“See you later.”

Ouma blinked in surprise, before he made a grin of his own. “Yeah... see you later.”

Heartbeats. Blood. Numbness. Darkness.

The loop started again.

* * *

“I’m Ouma Kokichi, the Ultimate Supreme Leader!” The boy grinned.

Momota blinked, crossing his arms. Arms that were bandage-less, eyes that were focused. He stared down at the small boy in front of him, stared at his beautiful lilac eyes, determined and cheerful and not at all _tired_ and not at all _sad_ and not at all _familiar._

This wasn’t Ouma. This wasn’t _his_ Ouma.

 _This is the eighty-third, isn’t it?_ Momota mused. He smiled faintly as he pressed his fists together, a gesture that felt good and fitting. “I’m Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars! Even crying children adore the Ultimate Astronaut!” he replied. A line that felt easy and practiced and kinda corny now that he thought about it. Ouma would laugh.

And as expected he did. “Wow, that’s so cheesy, Momota-chan!”

 _Momota-chan._ He noted. _Once every four timelines..._

“But anyway! Nice to meet you!” Ouma exclaimed, excitedly. Momota laughed as he reached over, ruffling his hair. Ouma looked surprised for a second, before he pulled back, irritated. But that’s okay. That’s _okay_ . This Ouma didn’t know him. Momota just had to wait for the Ouma who did. He wouldn’t mind waiting, not at all. He could wait _forever._

He grinned.

“Yeah! Nice to meet you too... _Ouma.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that ends "Fixing What's Broken". Whew! This AU is really fun to write, and I fucking LOVE Momota here. Haha. I'd like to emphasize that the last scene is the first time in the whole fic where Momota called Ouma "Ouma" rather than "Kokichi", and I like to think our beloved astronaut is coping, and he'll be okay. 
> 
> This is indeed the end but... I decided to write you guys a treat! :D In a few days I'll be posting a BONUS chapter, Titled: Dedication, which will be in Ouma's POV. It will show what happened to that timeline after Momota died, and hopefully answer some lingering questions you guys may have about this AU. Give you guys a glimpse of how Ouma is faring all throughout this mess. 
> 
> "Alone Together" is the song I listened to on repeat as I wrote this. I like to think it fits Momota in this AU. I like looking for character songs to inspire me with. XD (Ouma has a character song too and its so eerily fitting but that's for next time lolololol)


	5. [Bonus Chapter]: Dedication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The stars lean down to kiss you  
> And I lie awake and miss you  
> Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere  
> 'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly  
> But I'll miss your arms around me  
> I'd send a postcard to you, dear  
> 'Cause I wish you were here."
> 
> \- Vanilla Twilight by Owl City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Yogurt_Tea. I hope this chapter answers your questions! It was really fun to read your comments! <3

“Kaito,” Ouma whispered.

An expression of utter peace settled against Momota’s features as he closed his eyes, breathing a little too raggedly for Ouma’s heart to take. The Supreme Leader stroked his cheek, reveling in the warmth, the warmth that’s about to leave his body soon... the thought was _excruciating_ , agonizing... and Ouma closed his eyes and swallowed hard to try and keep himself from breaking to pieces. Momota was leaving him again, he’s leaving him again—

(Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Please _live_ for me, I can’t deal with this, I don’t want to be _all alone—)_

“Kaito,” Ouma repeated, latching onto it, the sound of his given name against his lips—

_(Kaito. Kaito... Kaito, Kaito, Kaito!)_

_Stop it,_ he scolded himself. This was not the time to be overly attached. _(Aren’t you_ already _overly_ _attached?)_ He bit his lip. _Shut up._ Attachment was poison. Momota had already fallen in that trap as it is, the horror of being addicted to someone.

( _The glint of the knife, the terror in his heart, magenta eyes that were scared, regretful,_ ** _furious_** _, not to him, no,_ certainly not to him _, it wasn’t him the monster was aiming the knife at, it wasn’t his blood that seeped through the floor. The colors of the warehouse bled together as he watched in horror, blue and green and_ pink _and lots and lots of pink and someone was shouting and someone was crying and he’s saying something (I’m sorry, Kokichi, I didn’t mean it, I_ swear _I didn’t mean it) and OH MY GOD what is he doing (he deserved it) WHAT IS HE DOING (_ ** _I hate you!_** _)_ WHAT IS HE DOING _(_ please stop, Momota-chan, I don’t like this, I don’t _want_ this _)_ ** _WHAT IS HE DOING_** **—** )

Freeze. Breathe in, breathe out. That was in the past. _I’m long past over it._  Everything’s fine.

_(How can anything be fine when he’s dying again?!)_

Everything’s fine.

 _(_ **_He can’t die again, he can’t die again, please don’t let him die again_ ** _)_

 _He_ will _die again. And you can’t do_ anything _to change it! So SHUT UP!_

Silence. Ouma let out a sigh of relief as he kept stroking his cheek, a gesture that both brought them comfort. “Kaito....” he choked out through the memories, feeling worry and pity and sadness and love and pain swirl inside the heart that he tried _so goddamn hard_ to numb. Momota just had that effect on him, he supposed, _his_ Momota. He smiled bitterly. “My beloved Kaito...”

Momota _sobbed._ Ouma was tempted to sob with him. But he can’t, he can’t—

(—a _nd he sat there, bathing in blood that wasn’t his, crying over the body of a person he called a monster merely hours ago,_ _sobbing, wishing,_ begging _for someone to put him back together again,_ please put him back together again, this isn’t fair, how _dare_ he look so anguished for my pain, how _dare_ he look so frightened for my safety _how dare he_ **HOW DARE HE** —)

_People do atrocious things when pushed to the limit._

(What happened to you? _Everything._ )

_It doesn’t make them horrible, it makes them human._

( _“S-Shitty shota, we can talk about this, right?! I’ll d-do anything! L-L-Literally, a-anything! I-I’m sorry for t-trying to kill you! W-We can call it, quits, okay? O-Ouma, OUMA STOP!”)_

Ouma shut his eyes and waited for the sickness in his gut to settle. _Stay calm, stay numb. Turn your emotions off, like a light switch. We’re the only real people here._

And the only _other_ real person... is going to leave him... again...

 _Deal with it._ Everything’s fine.

Ouma let out a sigh. Sometimes it was easier to just make Momota kill him. Maybe it was the reason why he was so hesitant to tell him the truth, after all this time. It was cruel of him, Ouma knew, but it was definitely _less_ painful, less painful than having to watch Momota die. He swallowed hard, and when he spoke his voice quivered, even after trying so hard to keep it level. He said those two words he hated so much, two words he _dreaded_ so much, because who _knew_ when else he’d be able to see his beloved Momota again? And who knew what state his mentality would be in again? Momota was too kind, too passionate, too sweet for his own good... he breaks too easily and shatters too easily and _my_ _love, for once,_ please _be selfish for fucking once—_

“Goodbye, Kaito,” he murmured. Momota opened his eyes, just a little bit, eyes stained with bittersweet tears. Even so, he grinned. A grin that took Ouma’s breath away, because as pained and bloody and anguished his face was... it said a lot of things: _Thank you. I’ll be okay. We’ll be fine. I love you._

“See you later,” Momota choked out, confidently.

Even as tears threatened to edge at his eyelids, Ouma grinned back.

“Yeah... see you later.”

Ouma cuddled against his body as he closed his eyes, listening to sound of his weakening heartbeat. And then Ouma started talking about the stars, how pretty they were, how cool they were, watching the twilight peek against the sky, tendrils of light illuminating the dome of the Ultimate Academy.

Momota wasn’t replying. Momota wasn’t moving. Momota wasn’t _breathing._ He was dead hours ago, but still, Ouma talked. Even as his voice became hollow, even as his heart was being crushed inside his chest, even as his eyes threatened to spill with tears...

Their classmates found Ouma sobbing against Momota’s cold chest the next morning, clutching at his bloody shirt, practically ripping it apart. And Saihara was there looking worried, and Harukawa was there looking stone-faced, and Ouma remembered what he needed to do, what this timeline was for, that Momota wanted the three of them to reach the end.

_Turn your emotions off. Like a light switch._

Ouma took a deep breath.

 _Turn your emotions OFF. Like a_ fucking _light switch._

Ouma’s lips quivered.

 _Turn it off!  DO IT!_ **_JUST DO IT!_ **

Numbness.

 _Finally_ . Ouma embraced it, embraced the last defense mechanism he had, the only thing keeping his sanity. _Stay calm, stay numb._ When he’s numb he could do _anything_ and live with it. Momota was the only thing keeping his humanity, really. _Stay calm, stay numb._ If it wasn’t for Momota, Ouma would have already become a monster. _Stay calm, stay numb._ Who was he kidding, he’s always been a monster—

_Bad. Bad Kokichi. You’re not allowed to think like that._

“I’m fine,” Ouma murmured to Saihara’s attempts to soothe him, staring at Momota’s peaceful expression. _He’ll be fine._ He reached out a finger to stroke his cheek. _Kaito is strong._ He leaned down and kissed his forehead. _Kaito will be okay._

He took a deep breath and held onto that, like a mantra.

_Kaito will be okay. Kaito will be okay. Wherever he is right now... he’ll be okay._

He felt a little better.

* * *

The rest of the timeline passed by in a blur.

Everyone else seemed to be polite enough to let Ouma do his grieving. All he needed to do was space out a little bit for anyone to leave him alone in his misery. Now that Momota was gone, this timeline could just burn to the ground for all Ouma cared— _sure,_ the three of them (Ouma, Saihara and killer girl) surviving to the end was _preferable,_ there was a bit of satisfaction Ouma knew he could get from seeing the genuine happiness in Momota’s eyes when he shares the news in the far future, but he didn’t feel the need to put _effort_ in it, not really, not anymore. He was lucky he supposed, lucky _for once_ , that fate seemed to be going in his favor. The day that the group finally saw Iruma’s corpse (or what was left of her corpse, really) was the day Kiibo _finally_ got sick of everything and started blowing up the school. The time limit kicked in, investigations until dawn, time to figure out and expose the bespectacled excuse of a mastermind... Ouma had done this before, exactly seven other times. He could do it all again while blindfolded.

But he was tired, so he didn’t bother.

Instead he sat in the couch in the hidden room, staring at Motherkuma as the giant head once again started taunting him.

“Looks like you’re reaching the final trial again, champ!” Motherkuma snickered. “What would this be, the eight time? Maybe _you_ should be the Ultimate Survivor!”

Ouma stared at it, blankly.

“The Killing Game is eternal! It doesn’t matter what you do, this Killing Game will absolutely, positively never end! But it could end for _you..._ ”

Ouma stood up and walked closer.

“Oh, finally tempted you?”

Ouma reached down to the bundle of wires at his feet.

“Or will you chicken out again and throw this opportunity away, lover boy?”

The wires made a satisfying hiss as he _tore it apart._

* * *

 _Once upon a time, a king made a promise. He promised to his beloved that he’ll stay by his side, that he’ll always be there, that he’ll get him out of their hell someday. His beloved cried his heart out, and the king held him, soothed him, his promises weighing on him, in a good way. It kept him grounded. It kept him sane. He was a liar, but he wanted that promise to mean something. He wanted it_ so badly _to mean something._

 _Once upon a time, his beloved took two arrows for him. And his beloved laughed in relief as he died from the poison, while knowing the king would live. His beloved was so sweet, really, so_ goddamn _sweet... so_ goddamn _idiotic._

 _Once upon a time, the king stood there in front of a giant bear head, seething, demanding. Because the giant bear head was talking, the giant bear head was cackling, the giant bear head_ knew _what was happening. And the king asked him how to get out, and the bear cackled some more, because he knew his next words would send the king in sweet despair._

_“It’s simple, really.” Motherkuma replied. “You just gotta survive through the end and step out of the dome!”_

* * *

_Step out of the dome._

“Ouma-kun is there a problem?” Saihara asked as they walked through the rubble that was the Ultimate Academy, blown up by Kiibo’s terrifying firepower. _(Now if only the stupid robot immediately decided to self-destruct from the beginning, then maybe ~~Kaito~~ everyone else didn’t have to die.) _ Ouma looked up at the detective, at the way he held his hand tenderly, and there was a time that Ouma would be thrilled by this _(and maybe_ ** _they_** _thought he would be tempted by this)_ but now he merely felt numb. Because the end was coming again, and the decision was weighing on him again, and freedom was so close once again, so close he could almost taste it. _(So close, so close, so close, so goddamn close...)_

Gokuhara helped Yumeno out of the bounds of the Ultimate Academy, carrying her so she wouldn’t be caught in the jagged pieces of the end wall, and Harukawa was already going out easily, effortlessly, looking back at them with a faint smile on her face. Saihara followed, pulling Ouma’s hand out, smiling that encouraging smile of his as he pulled, and pulled, and pulled, frowning when Ouma resisted, stopping in front of them like a rock, staring at the imaginary line where _hell_ ended and freedom started, just one step. One small, miniscule step...

 _Step out of the dome,_ the demons in his head whispered. Ouma wondered if it was one of **them** too.

_(“Hmm~ maybe it is. Maybe everything is just one sick game to someone, Momota-chan.”)_

Ouma closed his eyes as he was given the choice, once again, for the eighth time.

_(“I don’t want to get out if it would mean leaving you.”)_

It was just so unfair. Why did things have to be this way? Why do **they** have to play with his heart like this? Ouma didn’t know who **they** are. He didn’t even know if **they** existed. But whoever god was playing with their lives like this, Ouma despised **them**.

 _(“I’ll_ never _get out. I know I won’t. It just doesn’t happen.”)_

See you later, Momota had said. See you later, Ouma said back. Three simple words that meant the world to him. Three simple words that he would hold in his hand, cradle in his chest, until the day they could see each other again.  

Ouma made his decision. He looked up at Saihara... and smiled.

“I’m sorry, Saihara-chan,” he murmured, and Saihara’s eyes widened in surprise and alarm as Ouma stepped back, away from the line, away from freedom and back inside his hell, sadness and pain seeping into his lilac eyes as he shook his head slowly. “I can’t... I just can’t do this.”

Saihara frowned. “Ouma-kun...?"

“I’m not leaving,” Ouma said with finality, as he grinned his troublemaker grin. “I’m not leaving, Saihara-chan!”

Saihara tried to reach out to him, but he really shouldn’t, Ouma thought. Rocks and debris were still falling. It’s dangerous to go back in here, really dangerous. But Ouma stepped back, once twice, as he started off running back inside, hearing Saihara’s voice call out behind him.

 _I’m not leaving,_ he thought, determined, as he looked around, looking for something, _anything_ , that could kill him.

 _I’m not leaving._ There it was, a big rock dangling on a precipice, near what seemed to be the remains of the courtyard where Momota died. Ouma smiled as he walked in its danger zone, watching... waiting.

 _I’m not leaving!_ The rock was falling. Ouma shut his eyes. It was probably his fate, really, being crushed over and over again. But he didn’t mind. At this point he was used to it, as sad as that sounded. And compared to Momota who had to suffer through _days_ of torment from his illness over and over and over again, Ouma didn’t think his few seconds of absolute agony really held up to comparison.

_I’m not leaving..._

**Crack-crack-crack!** Ouma gasped. Blood. Heartbeats. Pain.

_... not until I can take him with me._

The loop started again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah! That ends this fic. 
> 
> Will I write more of this AU? Not sure, but if I write more of this, I might write about what happened to *other* loopers. I kinda have it in my head that all the V3 kids in this AU is still looping, save the original survivors. 
> 
> Will Ouma and Momota ever make it out someday? When Ouma is *this* determined, I wouldn't bet against him. XD

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me, if you want! :D  
> Tumblr (mostly inactive): https://rev-eeriee.tumblr.com/  
> Twitter (18+ account): https://twitter.com/rev_eeriee
> 
> If you guys want to chat or see what I might be up to, go check it out. :3


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